Sybarite
by ivyclarice
Summary: Trevor Goodchild finds his hands full with a mysterious fiancee who is frighteningly like Aeon, fending off a political coup, and Aeon herself.
1. Concupiscence

Author's Note**: **This is a gift for my wife, as she's a big fan of Trevor Goodchild's. The insertion of her character into the story is a treat for her, and is intended to offset the end scene of 'Chronophasia', to an extent.

Disclaimer: Please don't sue me, MTV. I'm not making any money on this, and I don't even think you are, anymore.

****

SYBARITE

TREVOR GOODCHILD HAS FOUND HIMSELF A FIANCEE FROM ANOTHER TIME AND PLACE, BUT ONE WHO REMINDS HIM STRANGELY OF AEON FLUX.

IT'S NONE OF AEON'S BUSINESS, BUT… ****

PART ONE

Concupiscence

"What is love? A rush of chemicals? A synaptic relay? A wash of pheromones? A toss of the hair? A sparkle in the eyes? Man doesn't know, nor does he care. He merely acts out his excesses on those he finds most desirable."

Chairman Trevor Goodchild has never uttered words he more regrets than those he uttered to the young interviewer from "Modern Breen". Seeing it in print only makes him want to cover his eyes and shake his head. What is it he's once told Aeon? 

__

This is what happens when a great deal of intelligence is invested in ignorance.

Yes. That's it. And what is that charming expression his adopted mother was so fond of using? Three fingers pointing back…?

With a sniff of disgust, Goodchild sweeps the magazine closed and aside in one motion, hoping that Ana doesn't happen to pick it up. If she does, he knows he'll never hear the end of it. She is a merciless tease, and while he loves the attention (protesting it all the while), he knows this will be different. He'll be embarrassed by how jaded and wrong he was.

"Chairman Goodchild?" The voice crackling over the intercom is crisp and male.

"What is it, Vandik?"

"Councilman Onatus has arrived for the meeting, sir. He's the last one."

"Very well. Thank you."

"Yes, sir."

The telltale fuzz of static disappears and Trevor Goodchild stands, reaching for the tan jacket hung over the back of his chair, pulling it on over his white shirt and tan braces. The effect is good; it is one of class and dignity with just enough youthful idealism to threaten the security of his older council members. 

Trevor is 6'3", blond haired, blue eyed, and put together in a way that is pleasing to members of both sexes (provided they swing that way). He is slim, but well defined, and holds himself with a confident bearing that ensures he will command attention when he enters a room. 

The meeting will go well. He'll see to it. 

****

***

PART ONE

CON'T.

Concupiscence

When he returns to his living quarters, Ana is waiting for him. She looks tanned and fit, and quite happy…and why shouldn't she? She has free roam of Bregna, a battalion of personal assistants to cater to her every whim, the weather is fair, and she has access to anything she wants. It delights him to see her likewise delighted.

She sees his fond eyes upon her and she smiles at him. For a moment, she is so beautiful with her dark hair and dark eyes, that it hurts. He pulls her close and kisses her. Though he wants the kiss very badly, this is also a ruse on his part. It allows him to close his eyes for a moment and regain his composure. Her loveliness has greatly unnerved him. At last, he permits them to part and holds her at arm's length, examining her.

"Your skin is…glowing. What did you have done?" He asks at last, gently releasing her and crossing the decadent sitting room to get himself a drink of sherry. As he goes by, he glances at her easel in the corner. A canvas is propped up against it, and an impressionist oil painting of a vase of flowers is taking shape. He likes it a great deal, he finds. It speaks to him with its blues and purples and slyly off-kilter perception of a perfectly normal bunch of orchids.

Ana touches her face as if examining it for the first time.

"Oh, I just had a spa day." She replies. "Very nice. Lots of lavender."

Trevor smiles, but says nothing. He is amused that 'lots of lavender' somehow amplifies 'very nice'. When he turns, he is holding two glasses of sherry in his right hand and his jacket in his left. He goes to join her on the blue swan wing chaise, and gives her one of the glasses.

"Thank you." She says. "How was your day?"

He takes a sip of his sherry and contemplates.

"My day was nondescript." He tells her. "I had a boring meeting where a large group of men talked a great deal and said nothing. I'm much happier to be home." With that, he slips his arm over her shoulder and pulls her close, nuzzling kisses into the side of her neck. "How was your day?" He murmurs into her ear, pausing to nibble at her earlobe. The warm, pleasant scent of sherry on his breath is enticing in an exotic way and it sends a small wave of goosebumps over her skin, her nipples becoming erect.

"It was…nondescript." She tells him softly, tilting her head in the opposite direction to allow him better access to her neck. "Shopping, facials, tennis, swimming…all that."

She pulls herself away from him long enough to turn and look into his eyes. "Are you actually going to take me, Trevor…or just play around at it?" That said, she cocks a saucy eyebrow at him and waits.

-------------------------------------------------------

Their coupling is both sweet and intense, though they're much too excited to carry on for long. It ends with her repeating his name over and over again while he thrusts at a frantic pace, finally erupting inside of her. 

For some time (neither of them know how long), they dose. Eventually, Trevor comes fully awake and realizes that they're both only half dressed. With a chuckle, he manages to raise himself and get his clothes back together. He turns to find Ana wearily regarding him with a smile.

"My legs are asleep." She tells him. "How long were you passed out on me?"

"I don't know." He adjusts his tan braces over his shoulders, then holds a hand out to her. He assists her in straightening herself out, smoothing down her skirt and fixing her hair. "I think it was quite a while, actually."

They are silent for a moment, and she is nestled into his arms in a loose but comforting hug.

"Put it on for me." She murmurs suddenly, a coy look entering her exquisite dark eyes.

"What?"

She laughs.

"You know what I mean, Trevor. Go put it on for me."

It dawns on him that she means his 'special suit' and a small rush of color creeps into his cheeks.

"Really? Do you…?"

"Yes. Go do it."

Trevor Goodchild is not a man who takes orders gracefully, yet he usually does as she commands, and does it without argument or question. This time is no exception. He releases her and she watches him veer out the door of the sitting room, toward their bedroom. She likes the way he strides, she thinks…it's very sexy.

Ten minutes pass as she waits for him to return, going back to the sherry she left sitting on the end table. Finally he returns in 'the suit', a form-fitting one piece outfit that is sapphire blue and made of a material that she finds mysteriously like spandex. Sewn into the bottoms of the sleeves are lines of feathers to simulate wings. Part of her wants to burst out laughing, and part of her wants to drop him and take him again.

"You know," she says at length, a trouble-making grin on her face, "if your political career fails, you can always fall back on fashion design. I know you made that bird suit yourself, and the wedding dress you're putting together for me is nice, too."

Surprised by the tease but also secretly amused, Trevor folds his winged arms across his chest and turns haughtily away.

"This is why you wanted me to put it on? So you could make fun?"

Ana contemplates for a moment (looking appropriately guilty, he's glad to see), then says: "You could try modeling, too. You have that primping and preening in front of the mirror down to a science; not to mention the cavorting around the bedroom, flapping your wings…"


	2. Perspicacity

Author's Note**: **This is a gift for my wife, as she's a big fan of Trevor Goodchild's. The insertion of her character into the story is a treat for her, and is intended to offset the end scene of 'Chronophasia', to an extent.

Disclaimer: Please don't sue me, MTV. I'm not making any money on this, and I don't even think you are, anymore.

** **

PART TWO

Perspicacity

The next morning, the two sit at their dining room table. They each have a cup of coffee and a section of "The Bregna Sentinel." Trevor idly notes that this day does not seem to be turning out very weather-friendly

"Are we still going away this weekend?" Ana asks him suddenly, setting down her section of paper…the comics, he notes. 

One of Trevor's blond eyebrows arches. 

"Yes." He says. "I have no intention of keeping you housebound one more weekend."

"But you're still not going to tell me where it is?"

"No. I'm not." He sees that she is looking at him reproachfully and he thrusts his chin out in defiance. "It's a _surprise_, Ana." He tells her. "You'll just have to wait."

"Humph." She replies and goes back to the paper.

Trevor surveys her a moment longer, a small smile on his face, then shakes out his own section of the newspaper again only to be interrupted by the crackle of static over the nearest intercom. There are times (more often, as of late) when he wishes for nothing more than to be left alone…to not be in charge of it all. 

All citizens of Bregna are monitored constantly, himself included; and it's his fault that things are done this way. His policy of 'the new openness', while certainly a unique and rather courageous political move, had bitten him in the ass, as the saying goes. It's one thing to want to prove to the world that he has no secrets…it's quite another to have to do it continually.

He lowers the paper and raises his voice.

"What is it?" He demands, more sharply than he had intended.

"Chairman Goodchild, I'm sorry to interrupt you so early, sir, but Councilman Drage is in your office ahead of schedule. Should I tell him to wait, or will you see him early?"

Ana glances up and sees the look on Trevor's face is cold enough to freeze lava. He is an orderly man and he keeps a very orderly schedule. One from which he seldom deviates. 

She reaches over and gives his hand a sympathetic squeeze, and he visibly relaxes.

"I'll be there in 15 minutes, Vandik. Bring him some tea, or something to that effect, would you?"

"Yes, sir. I will. And I'll relay the message."

The underlying static snaps out and Trevor sighs.

"I'm sorry, Ana." He says. "I didn't anticipate this." 

"It's all right." She tells him, squeezing his hand again. "Poor sweetheart."

Trevor presses the backs of her knuckles to his lips, then rises and saunters toward their bedroom. He is already half dressed. All it will take is a quick comb of the hair, a buttoning of the shirt and the shrugging on of a jacket and he will be fit for the public eye.

On the one hand, she doesn't mind this sort of thing. She knew what she was getting into as soon as she'd discovered he was a politician. These sorts of interruptions are to be expected. On the other hand, however, unnecessary time away from him is just that. She doesn't like being separated from him when she doesn't really have to be. 

Not only that, but it's rude and tacky of this 'Drage' to show up for a meeting a whole hour early.

Ultimately, though, she is unmoved by the whole thing and returns to her reading. Trevor emerges from their bedroom about five minutes later and kisses her goodbye. 

The kiss lingers a moment, as if he is unwilling to go, but they separate eventually and he stalks out the door, his irritation apparent in his stride.

Again, she goes back to her paper and is content to read it for the next ten minutes, or so. A stealthy, furtive knock at the door to their quarters causes her to look up in surprise. The servants don't knock. They come and go as little more than backdrops to the scenery. Trevor's aides don't knock like that at all. They rap on the door with a kind of curt professionalism only the military can spawn. So who is it, then, knocking at their door like a mouse trying to steal food?

****

PART TWO

(Con't.)

Perspicacity

"She's really quite something, isn't she Vandik?" Trevor asks his personal aide as they both take a moment to watch his wife-to-be on the surveillance monitors.

"Yes, sir. She is." Vandik replies.

Trevor's pale blue eyes slide over his underling briefly, striving to detect any falsehood, and Vandik holds his breath. Though the he was being honest, Chairman Goodchild sometimes displays a bent of paranoia that makes Vandik nervous. 

Satisfied with the soldier's honesty, Trevor picks up the cup of tea that is ready for him and waits for Vandik to open the door to his office.

Watching Chairman Goodchild enter the office, Vandik reflects that, all things considered, he is pleased with his position. Many people don't like working closely with Goodchild, but Vandik has no problems with the man. As both a political leader and an overseer, the Chairman is tough, but fair. His rules are strict, but if one remembers, respects and follows them, there are no problems. Perhaps the biggest problem that others have with Trevor Goodchild is that he doesn't suffer fools gladly. However, Vandik considers this a flaw with those who can't measure up, not in the Chairman himself.

He glances at his monitors, taking a moment to watch Chairman Goodchild's fiancée. She is a beautiful woman, he thinks. Exotic, sexy, smart and dangerous somehow. It's an excellent combination and he never tires of observing her.

She is reading her paper; the entertainment section, it looks like. He's noticed that she has an affinity for the arts. She sings, dances, paints, acts and writes poetry, all with great skill according to Chairman Goodchild. Though Vandik has not been lucky enough to see any of her written work, he's watched her dance and act, and he's heard her sing, and even seen a couple of her paintings. She's just divine…

She looks up abruptly from her newspaper, her eyes narrowed at the door. Frowning, Vandik leans forward and adjusts the volume on his speakers and he also hears a light, anxious rapping on her door.

****

PART TWO

(Con't.)

Perspicacity

Ana crosses to the door, feeling troubled. Things in Bregna are not normally spontaneous or unplanned. At least, not for people in Trevor's position. Neither citizens nor other politicians just decide to visit on a whim…

She opens the door with confidence. If the visitor is an assassin of some sort, Ana intends to go down fighting. 

However, the person outside is no assassin. He's only a boy.

She thinks he looks about 12, and is going to grow up to be good looking in the way that made male fashion models where she is from. He is blond (of course…almost everyone in Bregna is blond. And if they're not blond as Valkyries, they have hair in varying shades of red and light brown.) and has the kind of hybrid pretty/handsome appearance that so many girls just fall for. His eyes are very blue and he reminds of her achingly of her friend Johnny, whom she doubts she'll ever see again.

"I have a message for you." The boy says, holding out a piece of paper. "And I'm supposed to tell you that, if you agree to what the note says, leave a reply stuck to the third pillar on your balcony at this time tomorrow."

Ana glares at the boy more harshly than she means to, but still…she doesn't like this kind of intrigue. That the fools doing this are using a small boy as a buffer doesn't exactly please her, either.

"And if I don't agree?" She asks him, tone like ice.

He shrugs, making it obvious that he has no idea what's going on and is just hired help.

She glances at the note, and then looks at the boy in his dirty t-shirt and blue jeans.

"Thanks." She tells him and holds out a couple of bills for him. She is still learning Breen currency, but is sure she's given him a fair amount of money. The smile that lights up her face tells her she's right and the boy turns and sprints off before she can ask him any questions.

Angry and a little disgusted, she turns back inside, slamming the door closed behind her. 

Ana takes a moment to compose herself, then retreats back to the breakfast nook and her comics, clutching the boy's message in her hand. She is not mindful of the cameras tracking her movements. It's only Vandik who is watching her, and nothing has transpired that she wishes to hide from him.

She unfolds the little scroll of paper and utters an involuntary laugh. It's written in Breen, a language she has not yet mastered. The irony of this is that she will need Trevor to read this to her, so that she can understand the message contained within…and she has no doubt that Trevor is the subject of the note, as she's sure she can read his name. She is also able to make out simple words such as 'the' and 'day', but that's all.

With a sigh, she lays the scroll aside and looks up at the camera closest to her, knowing that Vandik will be watching (and listening).

"Funny," she says, "that Councilor Drage just happened to arrive a whole hour early, and this note just happened to arrive after Trevor left, isn't it, Fjorin?"

In the control room, Fjorin Vandik nods, though she can't see it. He had just been thinking the same thing. He hesitates a moment, then depresses the intercom button.

"Yes, ma'am." He replies. "It is."

He sees Ana nod back at him over the monitor.

[To be continued]


End file.
